Be Not Afraid
by Mojave Dragonfly
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS for the S4 season finale. What happens next?
1. Chapter 1

Be Not Afraid

By Dragonfly

MAJOR SPOILERS for the Season 4 finale

Disclaimer: These characters and situations are owned by the CW and Kripke, not by me.

* * *

Roaring. Blinding light. An explosion in slow motion. Dean hefts the knife and throws a Hail Mary into the center. The knife can kill anything. The knife scared even Lilith.

It doesn't even touch her dad.

Sam and Dean wake in daylight, bruised and aching, in a field that was a forest before row after row of trees were flattened, their tops pointing outward from the center where they lie. Dean has seen it before; Sam knows it by report.

"Lucifer," Sams says in horror. "He's free." He picks himself up stiffly from the disturbed ground.

Dean hears him as if they're under water. Something is wrong with his ears. "It's apocalypse time, I guess. You all right?" His own voice echoes loudly in his skull.

Sam turns an anguished gaze on him. "Am I all right? Am I all right? I just caused this. I did it. Not Lilith, me!" Sam almost trips over a boulder-sized piece of rubble and sits down on it, hard. Ruby said … oh, God." He hides his face in his hands.

Dean gets painfully to his feet, surveys what looks like ground zero. Some rubble persists from the convent, but most of it is gone, vaporized. "Yeah, you did, you dumbshit," he says without real rancor. "Damn, if I could've just got that door open quicker. Couldn't Cas have put me down in the same damn room?" He kicks at a stone. The sky on the horizon is turning burnt umber.

"What locked it? They were wide open." Sam looks up, and sees the sky. "Oh, no."

"Ruby did it. She saw me out there. Didn't you hear me yelling?" Dean's hearing is returning to normal. So something in the apocalypse can return to normal.

"I heard you. Dean, I just – I'm sorry, but after that phone call I just couldn't …" Dean has never heard Sam sound so miserable. The red color is in the sky in the other direction, too.

Dean smells smoke. But what else is there to do than bicker with his brother? It feels normal, and oddly, a relief. An island of normalcy as the world literally goes to Hell. "Phone call, what phone call? You don't mean the one from me. The one where I apologized like a little girl."

"That's not what you said." Sam gives him that look, the one from eons ago when Dean would assure him Dad was coming back for his birthday. But this time, Dean isn't wrong.

"Yeah, it is, Sammy. She played you, man." Dean watches the realization spread across his brother's face, watches him grow sick on memories, and savors his own memory that, at the end, it was Sam who held Ruby while Dean killed her.

"She … she knew." Sam's face is ashen. "She knew what I was thinking. She knew exactly what to do." Sam turns away and retches. Dean nods. He thinks he should be angry, but he can relate.

Dean studies the sky. The glow is in all directions. "Well, we are all royally fucked, now," he says. He wonders if the whole world is burning. He thinks he ought to care more.

Sam gestures at the smoldering sky, the killing field of trees. "I did this," he cries. "Dean, you were right all along. I am so sorry." Tears water his face. "I made these choices. Ruby said …" he shakes his head. "I should have known." He stumbles toward Dean. "I think … I think you'd better kill me."

Dean's numbness is wearing off. "You think so, do you? And when did your choices start being the right ones?"

Sam flinches at that, but stands his ground, still weeping. "Dean, I'm a demon. I am. I can feel it. There's no going back. I can't fix this." He looks Dean in the face, his eyes black as sin. "See?"

And Dean flinches at that. He can't help it. The eyes are the windows to an evil soul, and for too long the sight has meant run for your life, to him. "Shit!" he gasps, his heart pounding. He swallows. "Well, I don't care. Some of my best pains-in-the-ass are demons." _Sammy, oh Sammy._

To Dean's further dismay, Sam gets down on his knees in front of him. "Dad told you to. It was his dying wish. Please. I don't want to live. It's what Dad wanted."

"Oh, get up. Dad didn't know everything." Dean looks around wildly for the knife, not to use it, but to make sure it's nowhere near Sam. He doesn't see it anywhere. "Besides, I think he meant for me to do it _before_ we brought Hell to Earth. I've already screwed that up." Dean turns away because Sam isn't moving and he needs to dismantle this medieval tableau where Sam practically puts his head on a chopping block. "Damn, why couldn't I get that door down?"

With his back to his brother's misery, Dean can think of himself again. "Sam, I think Cas gave up his life to buy me time to stop you. I screwed that up, too." The old self-loathing fills him. "I failed him."

"You didn't fail me, Dean."

The voice is low and expressionless, as always, but sounds weary. Dean whirls in astonishment and sees him there, loose necktie, open raincoat, bedroom hair and five-o'clock shadow. Somehow he looks more haggard than usual. "Cas!" Dean cries.

Sam stands, takes two steps toward the angel, and drops prone on the ground, covering his eyes. The wind shifts, and Dean can hear the rumble of a fire. "Sam," Dean exclaims, "what are you doing?"

Castiel approaches, stops a few feet from Sam, looking down at him. "It is the appropriate response, Dean," he says mildly. "My line is, 'Be not afraid.'" He looks at Dean across Sam's prone form and his tone is no longer mild. "But there is much to fear. All is open warfare on the Earth between angels and demons. Humanity will be mere collateral damage." Castiel reaches down and when he stands again, he holds Ruby's knife. Dean feels cold.

"Don't touch him, Cas," he says, picking his way swiftly to stand at Sam's feet. Sam's shoulders tense.

"Sam has nothing to fear from me," Castiel says. He holds the knife in his right hand.

Dean studies Castiel, feeling his failure keenly. "You look like H – shit," he says. "What did they do to you?"

"I was cast aside when the final seal broke."

Sam has not moved. Dean kind of wishes he could hide his face, too. "Look, Cas, I –"

"You did not fail me, Dean. With the hosts of Hell and the captains of Heaven arrayed against you, your chances were small, yet you fought on. You led me. I let you lead me. To this." Castiel crouches by Sam's head, puts a hand beneath Sam's shoulder and effortlessly turns him and pulls him to rest Sam's back against his knee. Sam appears limp, but shoots Dean a frightened look.

"What?" Dean rushes forward, but a short gesture from Castiel pushes him back a step and erects an invisible wall. "What are you doing? Cas, don't." Sam's expression returns to one of misery. He hangs his head.

Castiel looks at Dean. "Trust me. As I trusted you," he says.

"No." Dean scrambles frantically along the unseen barrier as it curves around the two forms. Smoke wafts across the clearing. Beyond the felled trees the forest is in flames, but it means nothing to Dean. "You – I never know what side you're on. You used my trust before." There's nothing Dean can do. He can't approach nearer than a few feet. "I'm not trusting you with my brother," he yells.

Sam lifts his head. "Dean, don't, please," he begs, weeping again. To Castiel he says, "I'm so sorry, I swear. Do whatever you have to with me."

"There are rules I will not change, Sam."

"No!" Dean cries, anguished, as Castiel brings up the knife.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer is in part one

Castiel pushes back his own sleeve. "True penitence must always stay Heaven's wrath," he says as he slashes his own arm, scoring the same muscle he sliced in Dean's gilded cage. The previous cut is gone. He places his arm before Sam. "Drink this."

Sam, no longer limp, recoils. Castiel holds him fast. Sam starts to speak, but his words die as he looks into Castiel's face.

"Cas, stop this." Dean pounds the solid air. "Let me in." Castiel nods and Dean nearly falls forward as the invisible barrier drops. Dean stumbles to crouch down beside them. The fire moves closer, burning the fallen trees. Castiel looks only at Sam.

"Drink," Castiel says, expressionless.

"Oh, Dude," Dean says. "This is so sick." He looks into Sam's wide, frightened eyes. Human eyes. Afraid of doing it, afraid of what Dean will think. "Oh, go on, Sammy, what the hell. But I can't watch." Dean looks away. When he looks back, Sam is slumped against Castiel, eyes closed. Castiel rolls down his sleeve. The smoke is so thick, Dean starts to cough. Heat, as from an open oven, warms one side of his face.

Dean touches the crown of Sam's head. "What did you do to him?"

"He's done it himself. He's struggling now with conflicting powers."

Sam moans. "Yeah? The last time that happened, he started flinging himself all over the room. Is that going to happen again?"

"I don't know."

Around them the burning forest fades into quilted white and Dean's lungs are grateful. "A padded cell. How thoughtful." Dean's energy for sarcasm fades when he looked back at Castiel's stressed features. The angel sits against a soft cell wall, Sam lying restlessly against his legs. "Will this … cure him?"

"I don't know." There is no mistaking Castiel's exhaustion. "It isn't the blood. That's just the vehicle he's used to. Now he has some grace to power his choices. It might work."

Hope, an odd thing to feel at the end of the world, floods into Dean. "Thanks. Thanks, really. I know … you could have put me back in the hotbox any time, I know that. I'm sorry I was such a prick about it. God, I'm tired of saying I'm sorry. But, thanks." Dean eyes Castiel. He considers that Castiel could have been out there, with the other angels, fighting, doing whatever it is they do, but instead two sorry humans are his only companions. "Are you all right?"

"I am badly weakened, and something has eclipsed the light of the Presence."

"What does that mean? Is that something Lucifer does?"

"Perhaps. It could be my superiors, cutting me off."

"Your superiors. These are the guys who decided to bring on a war, because they figured they could win it. How could you hang with those pricks?"

"If Heaven is victorious in this battle, they can create a paradise on Earth. It is a noble goal, and may be my Father's will."

"Yeah, but what about the people who live here now?"

Castiel shifts against the cell wall as if Sam's weight or something else makes him uncomfortable. "Untold suffering. It has already begun. They are viewed as an acceptable sacrifice for the long-term good."

"You don't buy that, Cas. I remember when you used to like to watch kids playing on a playground." Dean realizes the futility of arguing with Cas – the futility of almost anything, now. "Speaking as one of the acceptable sacrifices here … not that what I think matters."

Castiel's voice is stronger, more intense, his gaze serious. "It matters to me. I want you to lead me again. I don't know what my Father's will is, but I have chosen my side. I remember the playgrounds. And I remember a time when all Heaven's forces served the good of Man. Your choices have always been for the good of Man. The good of a town, the good of the world, the good of your brother. My allegiance has been split and my motives corrupted. I will follow you."

"Whoa, wait a minute, here! You don't follow me. You're an angel! I'm just some human schmuck. No, don't start. You should have seen me in Hell. I tortured souls like crazy. I broke the first seal! I failed to stop Sam and Lucifer. Shit, I am nothing but a fuck-up."

"Dean, there is a truth that has escaped you. Souls go to Hell because it is divine judgment that they be punished. What you did, horrible as it was, was serving God."

"Oh, right. So now it's God's will that we have Hell on Earth? I enjoyed torturing, Cas. I _enjoyed_ it."

"I did not say you are an entirely admirable man. I said I admire your choices. Until I can make my own reliably, I will follow yours. But, if it upsets you, I'll say no more about it."

"Good. Just, don't. Besides, you're talking like we have a future here. This is the apocalypse. Sam and I are going to be part of this untold suffering party."

"Probably. But you can also do what your father taught you. Protect the innocent."

"With a full-up Apocalypse Now going on, how am I going to do that?"

"If Sam chooses to join you, he may retain some of his abilities. No one else will be looking out for humanity." Dean looks at Sam, and the possibility of facing Armageddon without him settles in his belly like a stone. Until he rejects it. That won't happen, unless Sam doesn't live. Dean studies his brother's face, sees unhappiness there, but not violence and pain. Not like the last time. It doesn't sound so bad. With Sam at his side they can go down fighting the things they've always fought. _If only they could have stopped this._ Dean winces under the weight of guilt and failure, and then puts it aside. He's a pragmatist. This is the way things are. They both wanted to be the hero, and they both failed. Fuck it.

With some of his fighting spirit reviving, it bothers him to see Castiel looking so wiped. "What about you?"

"I will help, if I live. I will leave my vessel before I die, Dean, to spare him. Promise me you'll help him."

"I'm not going to kick the guy to the curb or anything, but Cas, are you really dying? Because of this blinded by the light thing or whatever it was?"

"I am not only a servant of God, I am a manifestation of Him. I am sustained by connection to His divine presence. It's like the air you breathe. Something has cut it off. I've never experienced this before."

"We've got to find this thing that's doing that and stop it."

Castiel, who never smiles, smiles slightly at Dean's bravado. "There is another way. You can help me."

"How?"

"You won't like it."

"Ha. This is me, laughing my ass off. I won't like it. What now?"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers are in part one

Castiel shifts his weight again, and Sam rolls off his leg. Sam lies on his side, his eyes still shut, but a tension in his frame says it is not sleep that grips him. "You are human," Castiel says, his own gaze on Sam. "Every human is born with divine grace." He looks steadily at Dean. "If you can show it to me, I should grow stronger from it."

Dean frowns. "Show you what?"

"Love."

"Love?" Somewhere in Dean is laughter that borders on the hysterical. Could he please wake up from this twisted nightmare? "You want me to love you?"

"Love Sam. Love yourself. Love God, love anyone. I -- need you to feel it. It's an essence within you that's seldom on the outside, but is rich with the divine when it is."

"I – that's just – that's crazy."

"I said you would not like it." Is Dean imagining it, or does Castiel sigh?

Of all the things Dean has had to do, to try, to adapt to, this suddenly seems the weirdest. How exactly do you love someone on demand? "How – I mean, Sam …"

"Unless there is someone you love more?"

"Well, he's not exactly easy to love. At this point it's kind of like getting warm and fuzzy with the antichrist. What do I do, say 'I love you Sam?'"

"It could be a start. Dean, I don't know how to tell you how to feel something." Castiel closes his eyes.

"Okay, Okay." Dean doesn't even know where he is. If Cas actually dies, can they even get out of this cell? "At least he's still out of it." Dean looks at his brother like he inspects a bag without any pie. "Sammy I love you." He tries a different tone of voice. "I love you." It feels like one of Bobby's chants in a long dead language. Something meaningless that works a spell. "I love you. Oh, this is stupid."

"Try again."

Sam has relaxed, the tension gone from his face. Dean tries not listening to himself, just talking. "I love all of your … of course I really hate it when you … okay, I love you, I do. I loved Dad. I loved Mom." Now his eyes start stinging. "I loved those grandparents and Yellow-Eyes killed them. Oh, Cas, this hurts."

"Concentrate on Sam, then." Castiel's eyes are still closed.

Dean closes his own eyes. "Sammy I love you. I love you, I love you."

"Do you believe in fairies, too?" Dean snaps his eyes open to see Sam looking up at him.

"Geez!" Dean would kick him if he weren't on his knees.

Sam levers himself up on an elbow. "Should I clap my hands?"

Dean gets to his feet. "It wasn't for you. It was for him." He speaks hastily, then regrets the words when he sees the faint amusement on Sam's face fade. Sam looks at Castiel apprehensively, then scoots away from him with the briefest glance at his new surroundings.

"Cas, this isn't going to work," Dean says. "I'm sorry."

"What's not working?" Sam asks.

"Nothing. Sam, I didn't mean that I didn't mean it." He'd pace but there's not much room in a padded cell. "It's just that Superman there has a kryptonite problem. Are you all right?"

"You keep asking me that. I feel like shit. I knew stopping Lilith was supposed to be your gig and I went ahead and let myself think – Dean, I am so sorry. I thought you had come back from Hell too messed up. I told myself you were weak or something. How am I ever going to be all right?"

Dean remembers Sam's hands on his throat, strangling. Wondering if this thing that was once his brother would really kill him. He needs that to be over. He needs Sam back. "I meant, you know, angel blood? You feel any different?"

"No – I don't know." Sam seems to not want to look at Castiel. "What's the matter with him?"

"He's –" Dean doesn't want to say it. "Sick. Sam, listen. I swear, I locked you up to save you. I didn't know what it would do to you. I wasn't trying to hurt you. But then we had to see it through."

"I know, I know. And if I'd stayed in there, none of this would have happened. But it nearly killed me, Dean. I hated you for that. I hated you. I can't believe I was so stupid. I wish you didn't say what you said, though. I was almost thinking I might have been wrong."

"Hey, I should never have said that. But I already apologized for all that shit; I'm not up to it again."

"That's not what was on my voice-mail." Sam sits up, hugging his knees, a posture Dean has seen him use his whole life. "I heard you saying all the same things. Calling me a monster and how Dad was right to throw me out."

"Geez, man, that is not what I said."

"I believe you. I wish I could have heard what you did say, though." Sam's simple sadness tells Dean encyclopedias worth of what those words meant to his brother.

"Well, that's all over with. Um, anyway, that's not what I said."

"Here," says a low voice. Sam and Dean both look at Castiel, startled. The angel still sits with his eyes closed, but he holds out his hand. In it is Sam's cell phone. Dean makes a grab for it, but Sam is closer and has it in his grasp.

"Hey, the service probably doesn't even work anymore," Dean says as Sam thumbs his voice-mail and holds the phone to his ear. "What with the world going to shit out there and all." He gives up his protest as the faint sound of his own voice and the expression on Sam's face makes it moot. He watches reluctantly as the real phone message reduces Sam to sobbing into his bent knees. "Aw, crap," he says, kneeling, putting a cautious hand on Sam's back. He braces as Sam pulls him into a desperate hug.

Castiel opens his eyes and climbs easily to his feet, regarding them gravely. Still holding Sam, Dean says, "What are you looking at? You're a peeping tom and some kind of a love vampire."

Castiel nods. "Whatever you say, Dean."

The lights flicker and a klaxon sounds. With a mechanical click a door opens. Sam remains oblivious, but Dean looks at Castiel, concerned. "This is a real place?"

"It is under siege, too," Castiel says. "We should go."

"C'mon, Sam, get up. We gotta go fight the bad things." Unaccountably, Dean feels really good about that. There are worse ways to end.

_The end_


End file.
